


Merlin One Shots

by MusicalFrost



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Gen but merther if you squint, Hurt Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Parental Gaius, Protective/Worried Arthur, Protective/Worried Gaius, Sad Merlin, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-04-24 09:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalFrost/pseuds/MusicalFrost
Summary: A collection of unrelated one shots and/or drabbles featuring our precious Merlin. Chapters may vary in length, but you have my word that I'll try my best with every one.Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.





	1. Mourning Pt.1 - Gaius

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter's summary: Merlin receives a letter from Ealdor, and Arthur and Gaius are there to pick up the pieces

Crackling and the smell of roses floats through the warming air, drawing a content sigh from Camelot's court physician as he bends to stoke the fire. Careful not to disturb the small cauldron bubbling above the flames, he withdraws the poker and sets it aside, standing as he does. He double checks the boiling rose petals one last time before finally, at long last, creaking to his bench to rest his aching bones.

Gaius exhales slowly and takes a moment to close his eyes, reveling in the heavenly heat blooming from the fire. It's late; the windows are dark, accenting the orange glow caressing the wooden walls like something from a fairy tail- the definition of cozy. That, combined with the sweet aroma of the roses, makes Gaius drowsy. A few moments pass, and he catches himself drifting off. Shaking his head, he opens his eyes and tries to keep himself awake; he can't let himself sleep until his ward returns. He'd prepared dinner for Merlin, and knowing him, he won't eat it unless he's made to.

Today's been a long day. A whole family came in sick from the lower town, wanting medical care before they could infect their neighbors. Gaius had done what he could, but he wouldn't be surprised if more people come in sick later this week. Then, on top of that, one of the knights had broken his ankle on a hunting trip. After that was taken care of, the mortician had kindly dropped by to ask for help tidying up a particularly gruesome cadaver before the poor lad's funeral. It was a sad endeavor, though Gaius was relieved when they left. However, the horrid smell lingered in the physician's chamber, pushing him to boil some flower petals to help drown it out. 

There was, of course, poor Merlin. Not only had the manservant been scrambling to complete the assignments Prince Arthur had given him, he'd been helping Gaius with his rounds as well. The boy must be tired. Gaius makes the resolve to let the boy sleep in a bit tomorrow; he'd earned it.

Speak of the devil. Gaius looks up as the door to the main chamber rattles and then opens. In slips Merlin himself, the servant looking like he'd been run ragged.

The boy looks exhausted as he steps in and shuts the door. His shoulders droop and his feet shuffle, as if he doesn't have enough energy to lift them. He moves with stiff, sluggish movements, and shadows hang under his eyes; no doubt caused by the late nights he's been working recently. And yet, for how exhausted he seems, he still has an internal energy that shines in his eyes. It's always been there, that joyful light, like he has a clever joke he can't wait to share. There have been precious few times Gaius has seen his ward without that light, and all of them were accompanied by dire circumstances.

Upon seeing Gaius, Merlin's face illuminates. Then, it takes on a more inquisitive shade as he glances at the window.

"Gaius, it's late. What are you still doing up?" Gaius's left eyebrow floats toward his hairline.

"Waiting for you, of course. You and I both know you won't eat your dinner this late unless I oversee it." He gestures to the sandwich on the medical bench to his left, and Merlin follows his gaze. The manservant lets out a good natured huff, shooting the physician another grin, and shuffles tiredly to the table before plopping down on the bench next to Gaius. 

"Well, I  _suppose_ I owe you a thank you, then," Merlin quips, heaving an dramatic sigh for effect. Gaius lets a small smile escape, but quickly squashes it. He turns a stern look toward his ward, cocking an eyebrow again.

"Yes, you do," he says. "Now eat. Tomorrow isn't going to be any easier, and you'll need your strength." 

"Okay, okay," Merlin laughs, and swings his legs around the bench so he's facing his dinner. "Yes sir." He picks up the sandwich and wolfs down almost half of it in one bite. It's cold, and the bread is a little stale, but he doesn't seem to mind; his eyes flutter closed in bliss, and he lets out a groan.

"Mmm." He covers his mouth with one hand as he speaks. "This is amazing. I forgot how hungry I was. Did you know that clotpole of a prince had me cleaning his stables all day? All of them! And all of the stable workers were gone! I did it all by myself, and it took so long I missed lunch. Don't even get me started on the stuff he made me do  _after-_ " Sensing the usual 'prat-of-a-prince rant' bubbling up, Gaius decides to intervene. 

"By the way, Merlin, I have a letter for you." Merlin cuts off and looks up at the physician, a crease forming between his brows.

"Really?" He asks, confused. In all the time he's lived at Camelot, the only person he's ever received letters from is his mother, who sends one every month. Considering her last letter only arrived last week, he knows it can't be from her. Who else would want to contact him, of all people? A simple servant boy, albeit the manservant of the crown prince. Unless...they knew he wasn't just a servant. A spark of suspicion ignites in his mind, furrowing his brow further. Could it be one of the druids? Perhaps one of them needs the help of Emrys, or they're trying to warn him of something.

Gaius stands with a weary sigh and scuttles over to the cluttered shelf by the wall. He retrieves a simple, yellowing piece of paper from the piles of books and vials before returning to his seat.

"I haven't opened it," he reports, and hands it to his ward. Merlin looks it over silently. There's no seal, which means it's from no one of high status. Though, Merlin realizes, the stock of the paper is familiar; it's the same one his mother uses, and the rest of Ealdor. It must be from her, but why did she send two letters in one month? Dread pools in his stomach. Something must have happened. 

Merlin has always been good at masking his emotions, but after living with him for so long, Gaius has learned to read them. He sees the quietly anxious look on his ward's face- a blank expression to anyone else -and decides to give the boy some privacy. He stands and busies himself with organizing the books on the shelf across the room, though he can't keep himself from watching his ward to gauge his reaction.

Merlin carefully breaks the glue and unfolds the letter. He notices immediately that the handwriting is small and blocky, a far cry from his mother's neat and loopy letters. The message starts with an impersonal 'Dear Merlin, son of Hunith', and suddenly molten butterflies explode inside his stomach. His face drains of color, and he looks fearfully over his shoulder at Gaius before returning to the paper.

_...we regret to inform you...your mother Hunith...accident...on her way home from...rain storm...flooded the road. She must've...cliff...we found her...we are very sorry for your loss..._

Gaius stops cleaning and turns to study his ward, sensing something dark settle over him. He's standing to Merlin's left and a little behind, so he can't see the boy's face, but he doesn't need to to know something bad has happened. Merlin's shoulders ride up, and his back goes stiff. With a start, Gaius realizes that's he's trembling. The physician takes a step forward, wanting to comfort the boy, but stops when Merlin surges upward, knocking the bench over with a loud clatter. A shaky gasp escapes Merlin's lips, but that's the only noise he makes; otherwise, he's completely silent. The lack of sound unsettles Gaius, but he stays put, worriedly watching. 

Finally, Merlin finishes reading. He stands there a moment, petrified. The paper drops from his nerveless fingers, fluttering to the floor. 

"Merlin?" Gaius whispers. He doesn't respond. Now genuinely concerned, Gaius closes the distance between them and rests a hand softly on his shoulder. Merlin startles. His eyes snap up to meet his, and Gaius's heart breaks.

His face is  _white,_ almost gray, and his expression is blank and empty. His eyes, however, tell a different story. They no longer hold that light that Gaius had come to love; instead, they're filled with so many other emotions: confusion, alarm, fear, sadness. Denial and despair. The young warlock looks like he's in shock, and suddenly, Gaius's medical instincts kick in.

"Come, Merlin, sit down here," he instructs. He bends to right the fallen bench, and grips Merlin gently by the elbow. He needs to get him sitting or he could-

Merlin slaps his hand away with a loud smack, shocking them both. Both men stare at Gaius's hand for a moment, before turning back to each other. Merlin's mouth gapes.

"I-" his voice fails. He looks so lost; it takes everything Gaius has not to hug the boy. Merin tries again, his face taking on a greenish tint. "I...I'm not hungry." Then he stumbles away, around the table and up the stairs to his little bedroom. The door shuts, leaving the physician alone, confused and concerned for his ward.

What in the world could be this damaging? He's never seen Merlin act this way. Gaius hates the idea of invading Merlin's privacy, but given his reaction, he feels compelled to read the letter, if only so he can help him with whatever it contains. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he retrieves the letter from the floor and sits down to read.

He only gets part way through before he crushes the letter to his chest, unable to read on.

"Oh, Hunith," he cries, lifting his face toward the heavens. "My good friend." He squeezes his eyes shut has hot tears trail down his cheeks. How could this happen? As a physician Gaius is no stranger to death, but it never gets easier to deal with. Especially when the deceased is someone he knew and loved dearly. 

Though, no one loves- loved -her more than Merlin did. Gaius knows that for a fact. He remembers all the stories Merlin's told about his mother and his childhood, and the way his eyes would sparkle when he spoke of her. Every month, he would get a letter from her, and he'd open them almost reverently, smiling and laughing as he read them. Then he'd write a letter back, sometimes writing well into the night, before sending it to Ealdor. 

Gaius can't imagine how painful this must be for the poor manservant. He glances mournfully at Merlin's door, thinking back to the boy's reaction. It dawns on him, suddenly: the full reality of his mother's death hasn't hit Merlin yet. He's devastated now, of course, but he's still in denial. Fear shivers along they physician's skin as he thinks of what it will do to Merlin once he accepts reality. He presses his lips together in a grim line and wipes the tears from his face.

It's going to be a long, hard recovery for Merlin. Gaius vows to help him as much as he can, though, compared to what he must be feeling, it's not much.

Gaius tries to sleep later that night, but he can't manage it. Sorrow for his fallen friend races too quickly through is veins; thoughts and fears for the future and his ward echo in his head.

And if he's quiet, he can hear the other sobbing silently into his pillow, too distraught to even think about falling asleep. 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Gaius snaps awake to find his heart pounding and his limbs shaking. It's light out, and from the looks of it, it has been for a while. Last night's events jump to the forefront of his mind, and suddenly he's on his feet, his old bones striding to Merlin's door faster than he's gone in years. He barges in, his ward's name on his tongue, but stops short.

Merlin's gone.  

Gaius stares at Merlin's messy, empty bed for a long moment, taking this in. After learning of his mother's death not twelve hours ago, the daft boy still went to work. Fear and frustration burn anew in Gaius's chest, and he whips around, storming back into the main chamber.

Throughout all his years of breaking the horrible news to families throughout Camelot, he's seen many different reactions to grief. Some people turn to drink to wash away their sorrows. Some hide in their homes, refusing to come out. Some, though rarely, take action against themselves to join their loved one in the after life. And some, Gaius now suspecting Merlin to be one of them, throw themselves to their work and reject the mourning process entirely. 

Gaius changes out of his night clothes faster than he ever has before and whips out into the hallway. He has to find Merlin and bring him back-

Then, he stops. He thinks. And though he hates himself for it, he turns around and hobbles back to the medical chamber.

He can't interfere with this process. There's no way he can force Merlin to accept his mother's death, nor can he force him to mourn. It pains him greatly, but Gaius has to let Merlin go through this process naturally. 

However, Gaius swears, he will not let him go through the process alone. Merlin has always been a private person, especially when it comes to his emotions; no amount of forcing or prying will make him feel better. But, Gaius can comfort, and he can help in other ways, until Merlin is ready to talk in his own time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, comments and reviews are welcome. Also, if you have any prompts, don't hesitate to share! 
> 
> Also, I have a question: I have not had the misfortune of losing someone close to me in this way. As such, I'm not sure what the appropriate response would be, though I can guess and imagine. Does Merlin's response seem genuine to you? If not, is there something I can do better?
> 
> Have a fantastic day.


	2. Mourning Pt.2 - Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Merlin receives a letter from Ealdor, and Gaius and Arthur are there to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance, it's been a while since I've actually watched Merlin. Both characters might be a little OOC. If they are, please, don't hesitate to let me know and I'll try and fix it.

The moment Arthur lays eyes on his manservant that morning, he knows something is wrong. 

For one, Merlin is  _on time._ That alone is an uncommon enough occurrence to make the prince suspicious. Second, he already has his breakfast ready and, as Arthur looks around, some of his other chores completed as well, which is practically unheard of. His curtains are drawn, his outfit for the day is folded neatly at the foot of his bed, his room is immaculate; no unclean or misplaced thing in sight. And, to his shock, Merlin is sitting cross legged on the floor, polishing his chain mail and armor. How he managed to sneak the armor in without waking him is a mystery, but at the moment, Arthur doesn't really care. He stares incredulously at the manservant, who has yet to notice that the prince has awoken. The servant dips his rag in the polish almost violently before scrubbing furiously at the already shining metal. Arthur clears his throat.

"Merlin?" The warlock jolts, clearly startled, and snaps his head up to find Arthur sitting up in bed.

Merlin leaps to his feet, the chain mail and rag falling to the floor. The movement only makes Arthur more confused; Merlin's usually not this jumpy. Nor is he usually this quiet. Arthur's eyes narrow as he watches his frie- servant. Where's the teasing? The witty retorts? Perhaps he's planning something. He's been known to do that from time to time. Merlin scrambles across the floor and snatches up the tray of food before scurrying over to the bed and settling the tray on Arthur's lap.

Arthur stares bewildered at the food for a moment. Then his eyes narrow again and he looks up at Merlin's face.

"Are you up to something? Why are you so skitti-" he cuts off. Now that he's really looking, Merlin looks  _horrible._ Why didn't he notice sooner? The servant's face is drawn and pale, his hair a matted mess, and he's standing with an exhausted, almost painful posture that makes the prince cringe to look at. Dark bruises rest beneath his puffy eyes like they'd been painted on, and the worst part of the whole ordeal, Arthur thinks, is the fact that Merlin's  _not smiling._ Merlin's always smiling, even when he's not really supposed to. Yes, he can be an annoying, stupid idiot that never knows when to shut up, and he never listens to Arthur's orders, and he can be quite lazy sometimes. But, throughout the years, Arthur's come to rely on that smile. He'll never admit it, but Merlin's constant positivity and witty bantering has grown on him, and, well- it hurts him to see his friend- yes, friend - so  _down._ But again, he'll never admit it.

"Merlin, are you ill?" He asks. He expects- hopes -Merlin to give him that silly grin of his, and say something like 'aw, I didn't think you cared!' But, he doesn't. Instead, he merely shakes his head. 

"No, sire," he murmurs. In truth, he  _does_ feel ill. His stomach is roiling, his head is fuzzy, and his hands can't seem to stop shaking. But, he doesn't care. He has to keep working. He has to keep his mind occupied, or he'll remember that-

Merlin physically recoils, taking a few steps backward, and stares hard at the ground, forcing himself to  _forget, forget, forget-_

"Merlin, you don't seem well. I think I'll be fine without you for a day or two; take the day off." Merlin shakes his head vehemently.

"No, sire, I'm alright. Just a bit tired is all." He can tell by Arthur's face that the prince doesn't believe him. He tries again. "What are my chores for today?" The words come out almost eagerly, and Arthur's eyebrows fly up to his hairline. Since when does Merlin  _want_ chores to do? That doesn't seem right. But Merlin seems so determined, it's hard to say no. The prince answers uncertainly.

"Well, you mucked out the stables yesterday, so you don't have to do that." He clears his throat and takes on a more regal tone. "My dogs and horse need feeding, laundry needs cleaning. I see you've already started polishing the armor, so finish that. My boots need a good polishing too, and later today I'd like to take a bath." He stops. Merlin nods, still staring at the floor, and offers up no resistance. The alarm bell in Arthur's head rings louder; why isn't he complaining by now? "Oh, and my cloak ripped on our last hunting trip. I want you to take it down to the lower town to get it fixed." The prince feels like shaking Merlin when all he does is nod silently again. He sighs.

"Are you sure you're okay?" His voice goes soft, an effort to sound more like a friend and less like a prince; someone he can talk to. Merlin's eyes meet his for a split second before dropping down again.

"Yes, sire," he whispers, and Arthur's heart drops. He stays quiet for a moment, before straightening up.

"Very well. Get to it then. I want to have that bath before lunch." Merlin immediately starts into action, practically diving toward the forgotten chain mail on the floor to finish polishing it. 

He's done with the armor and out the door before Arthur's even finished eating, neither saying a word and Arthur's worry only growing. He can't get the emptiness in his manservant's eyes out of his head; his silence is unnatural. What could make the normally bubbly servant act this way? Arthur scours his memory, trying to think of anything that happened to Merlin recently to cause this behavior, but he comes up empty. Frustrated, the prince throws back the covers and hops out of bed, changing into his day-time attire. He has duties to attend to for now, but he swears to talk to Merlin later. He will find out what's bothering his friend if he has to string the boy up by his ankles to do it.

* * *

By the end of the day, Arthur wants to tear his hair out. His head is fuzzy from hours of signing papers he doesn't care enough about to read, and sitting through long, monotonous meetings he can't bring himself to focus on. At lunch time Merlin, true to Arthur's order, drops by to fill the prince's bath with water two buckets at a time, hardly pausing for breath before practically sprinting back out to get more water. He seems more frantic than before, like he's trying to distract himself from something. While Arthur's bathing, Merlin exits and returns again to drop off another tray of food before disappearing once more. He doesn't say anything, and neither does Arthur, though the silence makes him far more anxious than it should have. 

Eventually, all the meetings and paperwork ends, and Arthur is finally free to do what he's been wanting to do all day: speak with Merlin. Merlin should be done with his chores by now, so there's no reason he wouldn't be with Gaius, right? Refusing to delay any longer, Arthur whirls around and strides out of the room, heading for Gaius's chambers.

Now, obviously what Merlin's bothered by is something fairly significant. Arthur knows from experience that it takes a lot to dampen his manservant's positivity; he can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Merlin genuinely sad. But, even then, at least the servant still tried to  _act_ like he was fine. What he's doing now...it's like he can't muster up the energy to even pretend not to be sad. And that's what really has Arthur worried.

Arthur's so preoccupied with his thoughts he's not watching where he's going. He rounds a corner too quickly and promptly smashes into Gaius himself. The poor man, not expecting a collision, stumbles back.

"Sire!" he exclaims, at the same time Arthur shouts "Gaius!" The old man straightens and bows. "I didn't see you, Sire. I apologize." Arthur waves a hand, dismissing the apology.

"It's fine, Gaius. I was actually coming to speak with you anyway. Is Merlin with you?" Gaius freezes.

"I thought he was with you, Sire," he says grimly. Arthur shakes his head.

"I've hardly seen him all day. He and I need to have a little  _chat._ " Anyone else would think that Arthur's annoyed, and that Merlin's done something wrong. But Gaius, like he has with Merlin, has come to know and easily identify the prince's true emotions. 

"I'm afraid I haven't seen him either. Not since last night." They physician's wince is faint, but Arthur doesn't miss it. He eyes the old man suspiciously.

"Has something happened? He didn't seem well this morning." Whoops. "I mean, I can't have a servant running around doing my orders if he's sick, now can I? That could hurt my image." Gaius sighs.

"I...I won't lie, my lord, something  _has_ happened. But, it is not my place to reveal it." He winces again, and suddenly looks distraught. "I'm sorry, sire, but I must go. I don't know where Merlin is, but..." He pauses. "I think that little chat may do him some good." If Merlin talks to anyone, it'll be Arthur. The prince nods stoically.

"Of course. Thank you, Gaius." The physician turns to leave. He only takes a few steps before he suddenly halts. He peers over his shoulder.

"Arthur?" He calls. The prince lifts an eyebrow; the physician addressing him by his first name is a rare occurrence.

"Yes, Gaius?" The old man hesitates.

"I believe you'll find the answer you're looking for on my medical bench. It is not my place to explain why, but...he needs help." Understanding flickers in Arthur's eyes, and he nods again. 

"Of course." Gaius bows again, and scurries off. 

Now to finally get some answers. Arthur spins around and strides straight to the medical chambers. The wooden door creaks as he opens it, and he heads right for Gaius's table in the center of the room. His brow furrows as he sifts through the table's contents; what here could be so devastating to Merlin? There's books, quills and ink, loose papers, a bowl full of untouched soup. Arthur wonders if the soup was meant for Merlin, but doesn't linger on it for long. Could something in one of the glass vials have made him sick? He studies each one, but none of them seem poisonous, nor have any been opened. None of these could have possibly bothered Merlin this much. Peeved, Arthur starts searching elsewhere; Gaius's shelves, the book cases. He considers breaking into Merlin's room for a moment, but decides against it; it has to be somewhere in this room, or Gaius would have said otherwise. 

Frustrated, Arthur plops down on the bench with a groan, pressing his palms into his eyes. Is it worth looking for this thing all night if he can't talk with Merlin? Perhaps he can wait here until Merlin returns. Arthur shakes his head, already throwing that idea away. No, he needs to talk to Merlin now. But first, he needs to find him. Arthur plants his hands on the bench to push himself up, and nearly jumps in surprise; a soft crinkle comes from his right, and he looks down to see a worn, crumpled letter under his palm.

A letter. Medical _bench._ Of course. Arthur mentally kicks himself. It was so simple! How did he not see it sooner?  A stray butterfly bounces off the walls of his stomach as he gently lifts the paper, unfolds it, and begins to read.

 _...we are very sorry for your loss..._  

Arthur nearly drops the letter. Oh Gods...

_Merlin!_

* * *

Merlin's never felt so numb in his life. He hasn't allowed himself to focus on anything other than work all day. It's the only thing that matters, the _only_ thing that matters...

At least, that's what he tries to tell himself. 

He's done every job he's been assigned and more. First thing, he'd fed Arthur's dogs. Arthur had ordered him to feed his horse too, but Merlin instead told the stable boy he'd feed them all, which took up a big chunk of his time. He honestly wanted to muck the stables again too, but the moment he picked up the pitchfork, the stable master took it back and kicked him out; Merlin didn't notice the concerned glance sent his way as he stumbled zombie-like out the door. Next, he did Arthur's laundry. He'd gone back up to Arthur's room and, much to his relief, the prince had gone already. He took all the dirty clothes he could find and washed them all by hand, focusing so intently on his work he didn't notice the serving girls around him eyeing him worriedly. 

Then he'd taken Arthur's cloak to the seamstress in the lower town to get it fixed. It took the old seamstress only about twenty minutes to fix the tear, but during that time, Merlin nearly lost his mind. He had nothing to do but sit there with this thoughts, trying desperately to distract himself. He'd offered to help clean, do errands,  _anything,_ but once again, he'd been refused.

Leaving the cloak neatly folded on Arthur's bed, he takes about half an hour to fill the prince's bath and drop off his food before taking the armor on the floor still with him to the armory. Then he promptly finishes adding a nice shine to it- and everything else in the armory too. Which takes about...five or six hours, give or take, but Merlin hardly notices.

He did notice, however, when he finally ran out of jobs to do. Arthur's dinner would have come next, but the prince ate with his father that night, so Merlin was not required to serve him. He searched desperately throughout the whole castle for something to do, for someone's job he could steal, but for once in his life, the one time he wants-  _needs -_ to work, there's nothing. Not even Gwen or George had something for him to do. He would have laughed at the irony had he not felt so many violent emotions creeping up on him. Which brings him to where he is now: back at the armory. He's the only one there; it's too late in the day for anyone else to be using weapons besides the guards. The torches flicker quietly, their light reflecting brightly off the spotless weapons and armor everywhere. 

He doesn't remember why or how he got there; his mind has been on autopilot for so long now, the whole day is just a blur. He's curled up in the back corner, tucked between the rack of swords and a large chest full of extra spears. His knees are pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around them. His forehead rests on his knees, his eyes staring into nothing. Void. Empty. Blank. Numb. Until, suddenly, they aren't. 

It's like a dam breaks inside him, and all at once he's a crying, quivering mess. His arms and legs shake so hard he can't stand even if he tries to. Sobs echo throughout the armory, and hot tears spill down his face. His lungs spasm painfully, making it hard to breathe. He gasps for air, even as his body expels it immediately in racking, broken cries. He squeezes his eyes shut, shuddering hard, feeling a huge weight crush down on his shoulders, his chest, his  _soul,_ because  _his mother is- is gone!_

His beautiful, sweet, caring mother. He'll  _never get to see her again._

He'll never hear that joyful, contagious laugh, or her soft voice. He'll never get to see her smile, or her happy, twinkling eyes. He'll never get to feel her warm, reassuring touch, or melt in her safe embrace. 

What kind of funeral will the citizens of Ealdor hold for her? Would she be autopsied, like the dead are in Camelot? Merlin shudders. Would the physician fill his room with the smell of roses, like Gaius did today? His stomach revolts, and he's left gagging through every breath.

A cold, empty hole rips open inside him. 

Merlin stays like that, sobbing, trembling, for what seems like hours. Eventually he loses the energy to cry out loud, but his body refuses to stop self destructing. He doesn't feel like he'll ever function normally again, not when his mother is-is....

His nails dig into his forearms, hard enough to leave dark scratches beneath the sleeves of his shirt. It hurts, but he doesn't care; nothing can hurt as bad as what he feels inside.

* * *

It's nearly midnight when Arthur finally finds him. He's searched everywhere for his distressed friend, his own anxiety growing with every empty room, every minute he knows Merlin's going through something like this alone. The prince tears out of the castle and marches swiftly to the stables, throwing back the doors and storming through every stall, every nook and cranny, but his friend  _still_ _isn't there._ In a fit of rage, Arthur lets out a roar and slams his fist into a wooden beam, his chest heaving.  _Where is he?_ He's not angry at Merlin. No, far from it; he's angry at himself, for being so utterly _powerless_ to help. He's never encountered this particular version of helplessness before, and it's so unbelievably _frustrating_ and  _awful._ The horse to his right startles, nickering fearfully, but Arthur pays it no attention. His mind races, amplified by his fear, making his head spin-

The armory! Once again, Arthur mentally kicks himself. It's the one place he hasn't checked yet. How could he be so stupid? This is the third time today; he's beginning to think he's not quite as keen as he fancied himself to be. It's with an intense sense of urgency and fierce determination that he sprints out of the stables and back into the castle, suddenly hating the winding hallways and many staircases with a passion.

His chest is heaving when he finally arrives at the doors to the armory. He stands there, heart pounding, one hand on the door handle, and pauses.

_What if..._

No. He mentally pinches himself for hesitating and barges in.

At first he doesn't hear anything. For a second, his heart plummets, afraid he's found yet another empty room. But, something tells him to wait a second longer. He holds his breath, listening hard, and finally,  _finally,_ hears the sound he's been looking for.

It brings him no joy to hear the sniffling, near silent sobs from the back of the room. Apprehension fills his gut as he slowly inches forward.

The shelves and weapon stands cast long, deep shadows across the walls and floor, so when Arthur finally lays eyes on Merlin, his friend is cast in darkness. His heart breaks as he watches his manservant tremble. In battle, he's been trained to wall up his fear and cast his heart in iron, but here by Merlin's side, he can't do it. It's impossible. How he manages to keep a straight face he'll never know, but it's with a calm, cautious expression he approaches the form curled up in the corner. 

Merlin either doesn't notice or doesn't care when Arthur settles down on the floor in front of him. 

"Merlin?" He whispers carefully. He waits. There may have been a brief pause between one of Merlin's sobs, but Arthur can't tell for sure. Tentatively, he rests a gentle hand on the boy's knee. "Merlin?" Merlin jumps. His hands shoot up to cover his face, and he shakes his head violently.

"No!" he howls. His voice sounds raw, making Arthur cringe in sympathy. "Leave me alone!" The servant seems to shrivel, pressing hard into the wall like he wants to disappear into it. Like he wants to stop existing. Arthur doesn't know how it's possible, but his heart manages to ache even more for his friend. For once in his life, the prince of Camelot is at a loss. What can he say? What words can possibly be adequate enough to help with this sort of thing? He can't think of any.

Arthur sighs. If he can't say anything, then he won't. But, he can't just do nothing. Shifting his body around, Arthur scoots closer to Merlin, shoving himself between his friend and the wall. It's a tight fit, but he doesn't mind. He wraps an arm around Merlin's shoulders and hugs him close.

"I'm so sorry, Merlin," he whispers. Merlin's shaking like a leaf, and Arthur squeezes his shoulder, trying to bring at least some form of comfort. "I'm sorry."

Then, all at once, Merlin's desperately clinging to him, throwing his arms around the prince's middle and crushing his face into his chest. If it were anyone else, Arthur would be embarrassed, but he's not. This is Merlin, his best friend. For him, he'd do anything.

"Arthur, she's gone!" Merlin wails, his voice muffled by Arthur's shirt. He sounds broken, shattered. "She fell-slipped! What am I-what if she-how do I...?" He dissolves back into sobbing. Arthur feels his own eyes begin to burn, and he rubs soft circles into Merlin's back.

"Shhh," he breathes. "It's okay. I'm right here." He continues to whisper softly, rocking gently back and forth. Slowly, gradually, Merlin's cries begin to calm. It takes a long while, but Arthur neither notices nor cares. Eventually, Merlin is left hiccuping in his arms. A sudden burst of determination shoots through him, and the prince finds himself gritting his teeth in defiance to the world that dared to hurt his servant. Arthur rests his chin on Merlin's head, squeezing him tighter.

"I'm so sorry this happened," he says. "But I promise, it's will all turn out alright. Maybe not now. Maybe not for a long time. But it will." Merlin shudders, and pulls away from the embrace, returning to the cramped position he was in before. His eyes are red and puffy, blue irises glowing as they stare at the cobblestone below.

"I know," he mutters wetly. "I know  _I'll_ be okay. But Arthur, my mother's  _dead._ " Sniffling, he drags a sleeve across his face. "She fell off a cliff. Do you know how scared she must have been? How much pain she must have felt?" He looks at Arthur with such misery and fear, it's almost unbearable. "And I...I wasn't there to help. I wasn't there to-"

"Merlin." Merlin cuts off, flinching at Arthur's stern interruption. His mouth gapes for a moment like he might continue, but then he stops. Surely, Arthur doesn't want to hear it. He presses his lips into a thin, watery line and looks away. "Merlin, look at me." Silence. 

No. Nuh uh. There was no way in hell Arthur will let Merlin blame himself for even a second longer. Reaching around Merlin's arms- and dodging a weak attempt at swatting him away -he presses his palms to either side of the servant's head and forces him to look him in the eyes.

"Look at me! Listen. Yes or no, did you cause the storm?" Merlin hiccups, grabbing at Arthur's wrists.

"That's not the point-"

"Ah ah! Yes or no?" Arthur's tone leaves no room for resistance.

"N-no. But-"

"And, yes or no, did you cause her to slip and fall?"

"No! But Arthur, I-" 

"Then it is not your fault." Merlin opens his mouth again, but Arthur cuts him off. " _It is not your fault._ Even if you were there, there was nothing you could have done." The prince stares hard into Merlin's teary orbs,  _willing_ him to understand. Merlin's breath catches in his throat. He knows, logically, that what Arthur says is true, but inside he still feels like he could have helped somehow. "Merlin? Think. Nothing." It's rare to hear such determination in Arthur's voice. For a moment, it surprises Merlin. Arthur truly believes this, doesn't he?

"Do you trust me?" 

Yes. The answer comes immediately. He trusts Arthur with his life. So...he supposes that means he trusts Arthur's words too. Merlin's eyes slide shut, a few more tears escaping down his face, and he gives a shaky nod. Then he nearly topples sideways when Arthur suddenly releases his face.

"Good."

There's a beat of silence. Neither man knows what to say. Merlin wipes his sleeve across his face again, letting out a shuddering exhale. He looks exhausted; this whole ordeal has sapped his energy beyond what feels like the point of no return. His body feels close to shutting down, but his mind forces him to stay awake. He feels sore and numb, inside and out, like he's been kicked one too many times in the gut. He can't imagine trying to stand up. Maybe he can just stay here...

"I have...I have something to tell you..." Arthur says haltingly. He's just thought of it; however he doesn't know how it will go over. This will either help comfort the poor man or upset him even more. The servant's next hiccup, however, is enough to convince him to say it anyway; if there's even a chance this can help, he'll take it.

"Hunith...isn't the only one to fall like that." Both men flinch, for different reasons. "Many people have. You can ask Gaius to confirm this, but...cliffs that big, they kill instantly. Your mother wouldn't have felt any pain." He's never been one to beat around the bush.

Merlin stays silent. Arthur can see him mulling the information over, digesting it. Then it seems to hit him, almost physically, and it looks like he's going to cry again. The servant buries his face under his arms, his shoulders shivering. Arthur watches him morosely.

Killed instantly. No pain. His mother is still dead, but these things matter. A tiny weight is lifted from his chest. He swallows thickly, composing himself as much as he can before turning back to Arthur.

"Thanks," he stammers. A reassuring hand rests on his shoulder, and he leans into it, for the warmth if nothing else. Arthur lets him have a moment to calm further before speaking again.

"Tell you what," he says gently. "I'll let you have the next little while off. Take all the time you need."  _Please..._ Thankfully, Merlin nods, and relief swells in Arthur's chest. He doesn't know what he'd do if Merlin refused. 

_Grrrrrr...._

Both men jump. Arthur's eyes widen in alarm, and Merlin's head snaps up. They both look at each other, confused, before it finally computes.

That's Merlin's stomach.

If it were any other situation, Arthur would have burst out laughing. As it is, he can't quite find the energy to, though it definitely draws his attention to Merlin's physical state. He must have been working all day; either not having time to eat, or, more realistically, not wanting to. Arthur feels a surge of guilt. If only he'd found Merlin sooner...

No. He shakes his head. For now, he has something else to do.

"If you're up to it, I think we should go back," he suggests kindly. "You need to eat." Merlin's already shaking his head, but Arthur's having none of it. "Merlin. Please. Don't do this to yourself." There's a moment of resistance, but eventually Merlin gives in with a sigh.

"Okay," he rasps. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, preparing. Not wanting to wait another moment, Arthur crawls forward and uses one of the weapon stands to push himself up. At one point his legs had fallen asleep; he stumbles, pins and needles assaulting his nerves, and turns around, extending a hand to his friend.

Merlin studies it dejectedly before reaching up to grasp it. He almost falls flat on his face as Arthur hauls him up, but strong hands keep him steady. His legs tremble and shake, courtesy of having been cramped in the corner for so long, but the prince waits patiently for his servant to recover. Then, side by side, they exit the armory, one wrapping his arm protectively around the other as if to ward off any unwanted attention, despite the castle being completely dormant this time of night.

* * *

 

Gaius is still wide awake by the time both boys make it back to the physician's chambers. He's been worried all night for his ward, pacing back and forth. He has faith in Arthur, but it isn't necessarily easy putting his trust completely in Arthur's hands.

It isn't till the early hours of the morning that his door opens, a very somber looking Arthur steering an exhausted, unresponsive Merlin to the bench. Gaius, like any other parent, rushes forward and takes the warlock by the elbow, helping him to sit. The poor boy's face is puffy and blotched red, his expression distant and empty. His limbs are shaking, surely making it difficult to walk. The physician shoots a grateful glance at Arthur for helping his ward; he doesn't miss the tear stains on the man's shirt, nor the weary look on his face. Gaius settles down beside Merlin and hugs him from the side, whispering to him quietly. Merlin doesn't seem to register anything around him; the physician turns to Arthur questioningly.

"He's tired," the prince says simply, though it hardly needs explaining. "And hungry," he adds. "I don't think he's eaten all day." Gaius nods. He stands to retrieve a sandwich and returns, encourages Merlin to eat. It takes a moment for the warlock to process what's going on. Eventually, he manages to take a bite or two, but he can't take more then that; his stomach gurgles threateningly, and he pushes the plate away.

"Come, Merlin," Gaius urges, setting the food aside and helping him to stand. "You need to rest." Merlin sways gently before allowing the physician to guide him to the stairs, walking like a zombie the whole way. There's a tap on Gaius's shoulder; he turns back.

"Don't bother waking him up tomorrow," Arthur says, and yawns. Merlin's not the only one who's tired. "I'm giving him time off. As much as he needs-oof!" To the surprise of everyone present, Merlin suddenly lurches forward and slams into Arthur, once again curling his arms around the prince and holding him close. His face uncertain, Arthur returns the embrace awkwardly. Even though he just spend hours in the armory hugging Merlin while he cried, he's still unused to physical affection; he's not quite sure what to do.

"Thank you."

He barely hears the words. But, they're enough. Arthur tightens his embrace.

"You're welcome, Merlin. Any time." And he means it.

Gaius gives one last grateful nod to Arthur, and then Merlin's gone, leaving Arthur with cold arms and a heavy heart.

Merlin's not okay. He won't be okay tomorrow, or the day after either. It's going to be a long recovery. But, Arthur swears with every fiber of his being, he'll be there by his side for every step of the way. Just like Merlin has been doing for him. He won't let him go through it alone, not while he still draws breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!
> 
> I'm pretty sure the only reason I finished this chapter is because my own stomach growled and reminded me that Merlin hadn't eaten all day either. Yay, progress!
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading. Prompts, comments and reviews are always appreciated. Let me know what you think. I'm not sure if it's too dramatic or unrealistic or not; I tried to make it as realistic as I could.


	3. Broken Ribs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin are being held captive. The guard is...less than gentle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's kind of short, sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy!

A jolt of pain rips through Merlin's side, forcing him to consciousness with a cry of pain. He writhes on the hard ground, attempting- and failing -to relieve the fire in his ribs. Distantly, he hears someone screaming, but he can't focus on it; the pain takes up his whole awareness. He can't breathe, he can't think. The only thing he can do is ride it out. Another unforgiving boot impacts with his side again, sending another wave of agony. A loud  _snap_ fills his ears, even as his throat burns from an agonized scream, and he tries desperately to squirm away from his assailant, though the action only causes his ribs to flare up even more. 

For a third time something hard slams into him, only this time his stomach, causing all the air to whoosh out of him and leaving him gasping. His vision goes white behind his eyes, and he suddenly feels like he's floating. Then, so fast it leaves him burning, he slams back into his body. 

"-op it! You're killing him! Leave him alone, it's me you want!" He knows that voice. Arthur. Why does he sound so upset? His brow furrows in pain and confusion. Was it because of him? A sinister chuckle, right next to him.

"Nah," the voice says. It's male, and from the sound of it, a real bastard. Why hasn't Arthur arrested this guy already? "I won't kill 'im. Under orders not to. But, he didn't say nothing about not ruffing him up a bit." Merlin can hear the smile in his tone. Shivers trail down his spine. 

His eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, but Merlin forces himself to open them. His vision swims dramatically, making his stomach lurch, and he slams his eyes shut. Then he tries again, only this time much more slowly, and manages to look around.

They're in a cell much like the ones in Camelot; three cold stone walls, and one with iron bars all the way across. The torches on the wall across the hall flicker angrily, illuminating the cell and it's occupants. A rough looking guard looms over Merlin, an amused expression on his face. He's big- really big -with muscles that should belong to a bull, not a man. With effort, Merlin manages to turn his head. Arthur is chained to the wall across the room. He's straining against the metal bonds, fury etched on his face and looking like he wants to tear the guard apart. The prince has dark bruises littering his face and a split lip. One of his eyes is so puffy he can barely see out of it, and an injury on his shoulder is still leaking blood. 

"Ah," says the guard suddenly. "Look who decided to show up!" To Merlin's immense discomfort, the brute drops to one knee and leans in close. "Heya, princess. How ya feeling?" His warm breath tickles Merlin's cheek, and he turns away, his eyes burning. However, that's a mistake; while the guard's face doesn't change, anger ignites in his eyes. Without warning, he backhands Merlin across the face, the servant's head snapping painfully to the side.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Meaty fingers clamp over Merlin's jaw and turn his face so he's looking directly at the guard. The room spins precariously, provoking his stomach, but eventually he manages to focus on the man's face. The man smiles.

"Good boy," he coos. He releases Merlin's face and stands, giving the servant one last forceful nudge with his boot before finally,  _finally,_ stomping out of the cell, locking it as he disappears without another word.

Merlin's vision flickers, his head lolling over the stone floor. He feels sick to his stomach, like he might throw up any second, but he doesn't dare try to move; any movement could hurt his ribs even more. 

"Merlin!" Arthur pleads. It tears at Merlin's heart; he's never heard the prince sound so afraid before. "Merlin, open your eyes!" Oh. When had he closed them? He can't remember. Slowly, he pries his eyes open. He suddenly feels very cold; why can't he just go to sleep? His eyelids start to droop again, but Arthur intervenes. "No! Merlin, stay awake. Look at me." Merlin doesn't understand the urgency in Arthur's voice. However, he is the crown prince after all; he has to listen _sometimes_. With great effort, he makes himself turn his head and zero in on Arthur's face. A shaky, relieved grin makes it's way to Merlin's lips.

"'rthur," he wheezes, and winces as his ribs twinge. "'rth'r, 'm glad y'r okay." The blonde stares at him incredulously.

"You're glad  _I'm_ okay? Merlin, you idiot, I'm not the one with broken ribs and a concussion." A concussion? What? His brow furrows with confusion. Is that why he's so dizzy? It makes sense, he supposes. Nothing else could make him feel like he's spinning and falling at the same time. 

"Mm, okay," he slurs. "'m dizzy." Arthur sighs.

"I know. I'm sorry. We're going to get out of here. The knights will come for us, and then Gaius can fix you up." Merlin wants to nod, but thinks better of it.

"M'kay." 

* * *

 

Over the next hour or two, Merlin becomes less disoriented. He can feel awareness returning bit by bit, and soon, he's almost fully awake, if not a bit slow. His ribs are still on fire, but the pain has dimmed a bit, allowing him to think clearer. Arthur's resigned himself to slumping against the wall, fed up with trying to break the chains. He's kept a watchful eye on his manservant, making sure he stays awake, but other then that they've spoken little. 

Merlin's head is still fuzzy, and his stomach still feels like turning inside out, but now he feels a lot more stable. Letting out a low groan, he attempts to sit up, arms shaking from the effort.

"Have you lost your mind?" Arthur rebukes. "Lay back down! The last thing we need is for you to faint again."

"Since when," Merlin pants, "have I ever listened to you?" He tries again, wheezing painfully. His ribs flare, stealing his breath away, but he finally manages to find himself in a sitting position. His head spins at the change in elevation, so he squeezes his eyes shut, waiting till the feeling subsides before daring to crack them open again. Arthur watches silently.

"You okay?" he asks. Hesitantly, Merlin nods.

"Never better," he answers breathlessly. Arthur snorts, obviously not believing that for a second. Now comes the next step: moving closer to Arthur. Merlin takes a moment to prepare, breathing as deeply as his ribs will allow before using his weak limbs to crawl weakly to Arthur's side. Every movement feels like torture, but he can't stop. If he stops, he won't be able to get back up again, so he makes himself keep going until he finally reaches his destination.

When he's close enough, Arthur grips him tightly by the shoulders and helps prop him up against the wall. By now Merlin's head is pounding so hard he thinks he's going to pass out again. Then, against his will, his stomach finally gives up; he shoots forward, Arthur barely preventing him from face planting, heaving hard. Hardly anything comes out; he doesn't know how long it's been since he last ate. Every spasm has Merlin writhing in Arthur's arms, the pain so bad his mind goes blank. He's never felt pain like this. Eventually, his heaving subsides, though the agony in his ribs only dims a little, nowhere near what Merlin wants it to be. Distantly he feels Arthur supporting him with his arm under his chest, careful of his ribs. A steady hand rubs gentle circles on his back, trying to provide whatever comfort it can. Merlin splutters and gasps, unable to catch his breath and yet unable to breathe deeply at the same time.

He lists alarmingly to the side, head lolling drunkenly. He can barely hear Arthur trying to keep him awake. A frantic hand taps at his face annoyingly; why can't Arthur just let him sleep? In the back of his mind he can hear Gaius explaining that sleeping with a concussion can be dangerous, but he loses the words as soon as they appear; he longs to dive into the blissful arms of unconsciousness, but Arthur sounds worried, and he hates it when Arthur's worried. It takes all of his strength, but he finally manages to crack his eyes open again. Arthur lets out a relieved exhale, brushing his bangs away from his face.

"That's it, there you go. You can't fall asleep with a head injury like that, you clot pole." Merlin grunts disapprovingly. It takes a second for him to connect his brain to his mouth again, but once he does, he gives a breathless chuckle.

"That's my insult," he wheezes. Arthur squeezes his shoulder.

"Yes, well. You'll just have to take it back when you're strong enough to challenge me." Merlin doesn't miss the waver in the prince's voice, but he appreciates the reassurance.

"Yeah..." The servant sighs, dropping his forehead onto Arthur's shoulder. His head feels impossible to lift anymore. Arthur taps his face again.

"Hey. I just told you to stay awake. For once in your life will you please do as you're told?" Merlin waves a tired hand dismissively. 

"'m not gonna sleep. 'm just really..." he trails off, focusing so hard on staying awake and not puking again he can't spare any energy talking. Arthur, however, doesn't know that.

"Merlin, you have a concussion and broken ribs. What are the remedies for that? What did Gaius teach you?" He needs to keep Merlin talking. For a moment the servant doesn't answer, causing Arthur's heart to jolt, but then he takes a shuddering breath.

"I never did any of the major stuff...Gaius did that...I jus' know you need to wrap ribs, tight...so they're braced." Arthur nods. He leans back against the wall, bringing Merlin with him so they're both as comfortable as possible. Not than anyone can be comfortable with broken ribs. Arthur's had broken ribs before; he knows how it feels, and he hates that Merlin has to feel it now too. 

"Good. What about concussions?" 

"Gaius gives tinctures and stuff for them to drink...to help with headaches and dizziness and..." Merlin burps dangerously. "Nausea." 

Arthur continues asking his manservant questions, trying to keep him awake and talking. He knows it won't last forever. They both have to sleep at some point. But, this is the only thing he can do right now, and damn it all if he doesn't do it. 

* * *

 

It only takes a few hours. Less than a day for the knights of Camelot to hunt them down and dispatch their captors with practiced ease. Arthur's head snaps up from listening to Merlin's whispered ramblings, hearing footsteps in the hallway. Foreboding fills his chest, and he tightens his embrace on his friend. If they're coming to hurt them again, there's no way in hell he'll go down without a fight.

However, it's not the big guard from before that peers through the bars. Red and silver fill his vision, and his chest suddenly swells with relief so intense he could cry.

It's the knights. More specifically, Leon and Percival. They've finally found them.

"Sire!" Leon shouts. Arthur means to answer, but his voice catches in his throat. Keys jangle loudly as the knight tries each of them, growing more agitated with every key that doesn't fit. Finally, he finds the right one, and the barred door swings inward with a screech. He and Percival rush in, capes billowing, kneeling before their prince as they reach for his metal cuffs. Gwaine appears at the door, followed by Lancelot. 

"Merlin! Arthur!" Gwaine stops short, seeing Merlin's condition. His eyes shadow over.

"What did they do to him?" he growls. Arthur's bonds pop open with a  _clink_ and fall to the floor. He rubs his wrists gingerly, still supporting Merlin.

"That bastard of a guard beat him half to death. He has broken ribs and a bad concussion. I've managed to keep him awake this long, but we need to get him to Gaius as soon as possible." He watches grimly as Gwaine and Percival move to either side of Merlin, gripping him gently by his arms. Merlin, still out of it, stares hard at both of them, slightly confused.

"Hey, guys," he slurs. "'s good t' see you. When'd you get here?" Gwaine shares a concerned glance with Arthur before turning back to Percival.

"On three," he says, and the bigger knight nods. "One, two,  _three!"_ So fast it leaves Merlin's head and stomach spinning once more, the knights lift him up and throw his arms over their shoulders, fully supporting his weight. The poor servant cries out as his ribs are jostled, and his head drops to his chest, lungs heaving as he tries yet again to stay conscious. Arthur scrambles to his feet, waving aside Leon as he offers to help him walk too.

"I'm fine," he assures. Then he's following Elyan out of the cell, Merlin in the rest of the knights in tow. He can't stay here another moment. He can't let _Merlin_ stay here another minute. "We need to get out of here." 

And so, painfully but with hope and determination, they do.

* * *

 

"Oh, Arthur, by the way," Merlin says, in Arthur's chambers. It's two months later, and both men are recovered, albeit with a lingering soreness on Merlin's part. Arthur hums. "Clot pole is my insult." The prince meets Merlin's gaze, and the latter grins impishly. "Clot pole." And, of course, Arthur pretends to be outraged. But, had he expressed his true feelings, he'd have clapped his friend on the back with a warm smile and a bright light in his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always...can you guess? Yup! Comments, reviews and prompts are always welcome and appreciated.


End file.
